


The Accidental 'I Do'

by Frumpologist, smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: Percy and Tonks pretend to be married in order to infiltrate a cult, whose leader - a believed Death Eater - is planning to murder his followers on Christmas Day.





	The Accidental 'I Do'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ragdoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragdoll/gifts).



**To: **Ragdoll**  
From: Your Secret Santa.**

> **Title:** The Accidental ‘I Do’  
>  **Author:**  
>  **frumpologist** **Pairing:** Percy Weasley/Nymphadora Tonks  
>  **Summary:** Percy and Tonks pretend to be married in order to infiltrate a cult, whose leader - a believed Death Eater - is planning to murder his followers on Christmas Day.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Length:** 13,410  
>  **Warnings:** Disturbing Content: Cult Mentality, Forced Soul Bond  
>  **Author's notes:** I cannot even tell you what a fangirl I am of yours, and so given the chance to create a gift for you was so exciting. I truly hope you enjoy it! Happy Holidays to you, **ragdoll**! I also want to thank the mods for putting on this event for the 15th year! You’re wonderful and so very appreciated! And a big thank you to my alpha and beta, V & C, who both spent a lot of time talking me out of various meltdowns. XD 

***

Mad-Eye Moody is out of his bloody mind.

Choosing not just _any_ auror, but _this_ auror pushes the boundaries of sanity. 

Percy is absolutely, unequivocally sure that the old, infamous auror is out of his mind. Must be too many dark curses to the head. Or, perhaps he likes shenanigans far more than one would dare suspect.

In any case, here he is sitting across from a punky looking girl with purple hair and bubblegum pink lips, and she’s changing the shape of her nose with a simple squinty face. And she’s smiling at him like she thinks it’s a game and he’s not entirely sure what it is he’s supposed to do here, so he just continues to stare at her. 

She doesn’t seem to mind the attention, and that spurs Percy’s ire further. She’s a brilliant, bright spot in an otherwise gloomy sort of place. She’s entirely unaffected by the things going on around her and she’s creating a scene with all her silly metamorphmagus shenanigans. He doesn’t like it, not one bit. In fact, he’d daresay that out of all the insanity in his life with six siblings, seeing Nymphadora _here and now_ , of all times and places, is the worst outcome he could think of when his supervisor suggested gaining experience by traveling with the aurors to Germany.

He doesn’t like crime fighting, he isn’t a vigilante sort of person. He prefers charmwork to defense and he has no discernible skills where enchanting and dueling are concerned. Percy isn’t much of a confrontational person, either, and so even though he wants to tell this Nymphadora witch to stop being so immature, he doesn’t. He just stares ahead as she continues to smile and change her appearance.

Her features settle on a heart-shaped face framed with vibrant purple hair and her dark, almond shaped eyes land on the door as someone enters the room. His back is to the door, but he surmises based on her strict expression that it’s her boss, the famed Mad-Eye Moody himself. The man doesn’t particularly scare Percy, it’s just that he’s a bit of a wildcard where vigilance is concerned. He once stunned a parakeet that ran amok in the Ministry’s elevators because he felt that ‘no self-respecting bird would get himself trapped in a lift.’ It took the Magical Creatures division a solid hour to revive the parakeet and send it on its way, but not before it flew over Moody and, well, Moody said that it’s a sign of good luck, anyway, to have a bird deposit its digested breakfast on your shoulder. 

“A Weasley and a Black,” Moody says suddenly as he tosses a case file onto the table between them. “Never thought I’d see the day where the two should meet.”

His eyes dance across their faces as if he expects one of them to shout ‘surprise!’ Neither of them make a peep until Moody limps to the third chair at the table and deposits himself in it. His hands rest on the wooden cane he hobbles against and he relaxes back against the frame as if he’s entirely at ease with the whole situation.

Percy is jealous of his demeanor, so opposite his own.

“Aww, Alastor,” Tonks says, her serious face fading the longer the old auror stares at them. Percy watches her eyes light up, sparkling brighter as Moody’s face dims. “It’s almost like you think we’re going to start dueling at any second!”

“I should think not.” They’re the first words he’s spoken since sitting down in the room with her an hour ago, and they’re ripped from him in an indignant explosion. They burst forth from his mouth so suddenly and with such force that Nymphadora and Mad-Eye’s eyes whip to his face like startled animals.

“I don’t duel,” he clarifies, sniffing the air as if the very thought offends him. “If this… _job_ is going to require that I run around like a wild garden gnome and sling spellfire throughout Europe – “

Nymphadora is giggling and trying, though also failing, to stifle the sound behind the back of her hand. Moody, quite the opposite, leers at him with one dark eye. Percy decides to stare into the whizzing blue one because it’s less intimidating. 

“Merlin’s beard, boy,” Moody hisses as he slams the bottom of his cane against the ground. Percy jumps. “You are not an auror. You will not be dueling any dark wizards. This is a reconnaissance mission only. Nymphadora, don’t rile the lad on his first day.”

***

Several days later, Percy thinks that Mad-Eye is more than out of his bloody mind. He’s got them loaded onto the Knight Bus version of a ferry, popping in and out of the water like a spastic recreation of the Loch Ness monster. Nymphadora, who continues to demand to be addressed by her surname only, is cuddled up beside him with her head tucked into his shoulder as he tries desperately to keep them both from falling overboard.

Honestly, wizards have no business interfering with perfectly good muggle transport systems. It never turns out well. And then this… _closeness_ happens and people start getting the wrong idea about intentions and motives. For instance, why is Nymphadora’s hand creeping along the cotton fabric of his jumper? And how exactly does she expect Percy to keep them on the bloody boat if she keeps breathing onto his neck like that?

He’s certain he’s not being paid enough for this mission. 

Christmas in Deutschland is stunning, both in its intricate dazzling lights and the maze of markets that line the cities. Percy’s never seen so many decorations, and while he does enjoy Christmas, he feels the shine of the lights far too bright and jolly for his tastes. Give him a snowy, wooded meadow, and he’s a happy chap. But this, with all the bundled up muggles zipping to and fro while singing carols and running amok through the streets? No, he much prefers the solitude of a house filled with Weasleys to this... extravagance. 

His partner, on the other hand, yanks him here and there while gripping his forearm tight and pulls him along to various things she finds ‘so beautiful and interesting.’ 

“Yes, Nymphad-” he clears his throat when she sends a scathing glare in his direction, “-Tonks. It’s very bright and festive. No, we shouldn’t go look at the figurines, no, we should be heading to the cathedral and-”

“Percy.” She stops her zig-zag pattern in the middle of the bloody street and spins in front of him. She’s at least a forehead shorter than he is, but with her hands on her hips and that very scornful gleam in her eye, he shuts up because despite her smaller stature, she’s bloody intimidating. “Look. Have you ever been to Germany at Christmas? No. Will you ever do it again? Also no, because you’re a dreadful stick in the mud. So, while we’re pretending to be a newlywed couple on their honeymoon, we should at least look as if we’re enjoying ourselves.”

Her finger digs into the center of his chest and she narrows her eyes as if daring him to argue. He opens his mouth and she pokes him harder. Percy shoves her finger away and sighs. 

“We aren’t actually married, though,” he says anyway and immediately winces at the way her hair chances to match his mother’s fiery curls. “Oh, there’s no reason to get my mum involved in this, Nymph-” she takes a small step into his space but he holds his ground, “-adora. We’re pretend married, a ruse, and no one here actually cares who we are. You’re using your travel gratuitously and as a senior analyst for the Department for International Magical Cooper-”

“One of these days, Percy Weasley, we’re going to get you into Mungo’s to have that broom removed from your tight arse.” 

Nymphadora spins away from him and stomps off in the direction of the cathedral, visible over the tops of the small buildings surrounding the Christmas markets. Percy sprints after her and, as any dutiful fake husband cares to do, places the crook of his elbow around her neck and holds her close. He only stumbles over his feet a time or two as she drags him forward with sharp breaths through her nose. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her sincerely, and her pace slows a wee bit at the words. “I’m particularly uncomfortable with the details of our mission, and I suppose that I’m taking it out on you.”

“It’s not like we’re really married, Percy,” she laughs and lays her head onto his cloaked arm as they weave through various streets. “We don’t have to, you know, consummate the marriage or anything.”

Percy snorts. “It’s not the wedding night that has me anxious. Why would you think so?”

He glances to her, a small smirk plays on his lips as she meets his gaze and smiles back. “I didn’t think… you know what, never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“You think I don’t know my way around a wedding bed?” He’s teasing her and he finds that he likes the way her laughter tinkles through the brisk air around them. 

“Alright, Weasley.” She pats him gently on the stomach and grips him a little tighter at the arm. “I’ve no doubt you can woo your future bride.”

For some reason, it makes him puff his chest and stand taller, and it’s strange because he’s never much cared for whether or not he can make a witch happy in the bedroom. The feeling is foreign, that he would entertain the possibility that does care, and it’s not entirely unwelcome. He holds her a little closer, but barely registers it. 

“So why are you anxious, then?” She interrupts the beginning of his musings as the cathedral comes into full view. 

He stares at the gothic style building, with its tall arches and pointed ceilings. It stands mighty against the backdrop of the city and casts a haunting shadow with the bright moonlight behind it. He can barely take his eyes off of it to answer her, and his words leave him in the most awestruck breath. 

“I’m not an auror.” He debates explaining further and watches as her gaze is just as set on the cathedral as was his mind. So, he continues. “I’m not good at chasing down the bad guys and I don’t enjoy a good duel. I’m here only at the request of Mr. Crouch, to further advance the relations of Germany and Britain ahead of the Quidditch World Cup.” 

“You don’t think you’ll find any joy in saving these people?” Nymphadora slowly pulls her eyes from the building and unravels her arms from him. “They think the man who leads them is a savior, you know. He’s promised them that he’s their only chance at salvation. And that man is a wizard, he’s lying to them, and he’s convinced them all to drink a potion tonight.”

“Yes,” he says with a curt nod, “I read the case file. We’re here to pretend to join their group.”

“Right, well, it’s more than that, don’t you understand?” She gestures to the building. “There are muggles inside there who are going to die, and they have no idea that magic exists. We can’t just charge in and arrest their leader, that’s how mass homicides happen.”

“So Moody said,” Percy sighs, “no fewer than six times.”

“And you argued with him every time!” Nymphadora groans as he rolls his eyes. “Percy, look at me! We can’t just march in there and start firing spells. We need to assimilate and divide and conquer. Or else he’ll try to kill them all, and us.”

She’s being dramatic, just like Moody. Aurors, they’re charged on adrenaline and theatrics. Politicians like Percy, they’re logical and steadfast and practical. A few stuns, an obliviation team, and they can save everyone, even the leader of this crazy cult. 

“Yes, yes,” he soothes her with a gentle hand wrapping around hers. He tugs her forward so that they’re heading toward the wide double doors. “I promise to uphold the beliefs of magical law enforcement. We’ll do this your way and I’ll behave like a proper fake husband while you enjoy becoming part of the cult.”

She snorts and skips ahead of him on the stone steps. He’s dragged along and even though he slacks a bit, he tries to keep up with her because suddenly she’s excited and alight with some renewed vigor that’s desperately trying to claw its way into him. He’s too busy fighting that feeling to even think about fighting against the feel of her body pressing against him as she reaches up on her tiptoes to clank the heavy knocker against the door. 

It takes several minutes, but the door opens inwards with a loud, echoing creak. A small, angular face pokes out from the gap between the doors. Eyebrows are raised almost into the red hood that dons its head. 

“May I help you?” The high voice asks curiously. “We aren’t providing meals to the underprivileged community until tomorrow.”

Percy glances at Tonks, surprised he can understand this man with perfect clarity. Surely this isn’t an English church. Where’s the accent? He raises an eyebrow and pinches his lips. Something strange is happening here.

“Pardon us, sir,” she says in the most vulnerable sounding voice he’d ever heard from her. “My new husband and I are on our honeymoon and, er, we heard…”

She glances at Percy, obviously another one of her theatrics, and nibbles on her lower lip. He ignores the feeling in his stomach that seems to tell him he likes the sight of it. Preposterous. 

“We are seeking asylum from the world,” she finishes in a whisper. Somehow her eyes are wider than before, an imploring sort of expression that instantly endears her to the man at the door. 

He hesitates for only a moment and then opens the door wider for them to enter. “You are just in time, my friends. Please, come in and allow us to help you.”

As the doors close behind them, Percy is immediately overcome with nerves. He’s somewhere new, his exit is closed, they’re at the mercy of whatever evil resides here. And Nymphadora is practically skipping along behind the strange cloaked man without a care in the world. 

As they’re escorted through the vast corridor of the cathedral, Percy watches the paintings on the wall. Stationary, ordinary, perfectly muggle. Still, something sends a chill up his spine, like he’s being watched. It’s like being back in The Burrow with the eyes of his six siblings following him everywhere. He catches himself glancing back to paintings, staring at the eyes as if expecting them to move when he turns his back. 

“This is such a lovely church,” he hears Nymphadora tell the small man. “You must be able to house dozens of families?”

The man gives her a perfunctory laugh. “We own only a small portion. We are afforded a small wing, just this way, and the larger cathedral belongs to the State.”

Percy watches as Nymphadora glances around and catches his eye. She winks, of all the strange and untimely things. 

“So, how many people do you take in?”

“We cater to a hundred,” he says proudly and takes a sharp right turn. “The head of council ensures that no true seeker is turned away. He is… well, as I’m sure you heard, rather gifted in his communion.”

“Yes.” Percy nods even though the man can’t see him. He’s getting better about theatrics, he thinks. “We’ve heard the Head is rather enthusiastic about sharing his relationship with eternal life.”

Nymphadora pinches his side and he fights the urge to shout “oi”. He offers her a tight lipped smile and continues his brisk pace as if he wasn’t aching to soothe the skin just below his rib cage. 

“Certainly!” The man’s words grow excited as he whips through the corridors. “We’re only a smaller founding underneath the church, you know. The head of the council doesn’t particularly care for the State’s version of affairs and instead he teaches from his own manual. Far more miracles I have witnessed under his charge than any other of the clergy before him.”

“Indeed.” Percy rolls his eyes and feels the witch beside him reach for his skin once again, but he dodges her and grips her hand in his. “I, for one, cannot wait to meet his excellence.”

The witch exhales sharply through her nose and tries to wrestle her hand away. He doesn’t let it go. 

They come to a large metal door and the man knocks on it three times in a pattern. Just as the front door, this also creaks and groans upon opening. Behind the door is a brightly lit room decorated in stunning lighting, the dim fire that normally accompanied sconces is instead almost white fire and casts a glow about the room. Percy feels the need to shield his eyes from it, and squints against its shine. 

“If you could just wait here, I will nip away to fetch the Head so that he may welcome you into his family.” 

The man didn’t wait for them to agree and instead took off like a shot through the room and exited a door opposite where they entered. Nymphadora immediately turned on him. 

“What are you playing at?” She is explosive, and he finds that the flush on her face is rather delightful. Her finger prods into his sternum. “You are being-”

“A believer? A fantastically accurate demonstrator of how best to fit into one’s surroundings?” Percy chanced a cheeky smile and it fell instantly when her dark eyes flashed.

“It’s hardly believable!” Her hands are in the air and she’s raving at him. “You sounded arrogant and skeptical. It was rude. They’re probably already onto us.”

Percy takes her hand and wraps it in his own. He’s found that she calms under his touch and he quite likes the effect he has on her. 

“I’m meant to be the skeptical one, Nymph-” he thinks twice about her name under the glare she sends him, “Tonks. It would look entirely unrealistic if we both bought into this codswallop without the slightest hint of skepticism.”

She sighs and her shoulders drop. It’s almost as if he can see her hackles falling under the surface and part of him yearns to bring back that ire because he likes it when she’s frustrated at him. Years of conditioning, he thinks, to want to earn the fury of a witch scorned. 

“It’s also very strange that they’re English,” Percy says as an afterthought, entirely ignoring his own inner monologue regarding the anger of the witch. 

At this, Nymphadora smirks. “Ministry trick. Since we’re in a foreign country, we have a spell for translation. I cast it on us ages ago.”

“Pardon?” Percy shakes his head, a ginger eyebrow high on his face. “Shouldn’t I be aware of such a thing, being a senior member of the international magical cooperation-”

“Yes,” she says simply, shrugging her shoulders. “But have you traveled yet? No. As I’ve said, you’re a stick in the mud.”

Percy scoffs and drops her hand. “I’ll need that spell from you when we’re done here.”

“Of course.” She’s smiling as if she’s hiding a secret, but Percy doesn’t want to open that Pandora’s Box if he can help it. He’ll let her keep her secrets, just as he’ll keep his own. “As long as we make it out of here alive.”

Ah, yes, the conundrum of the day. He’s not exceedingly worried about snuffing it, not really. However, the longer they’re kept waiting in the large dining chamber, the more uncomfortable Percy grows. 

He leaves Nymphadora‘s side to have a snoop around the room. They circle the room opposite one another, stopping here and there to look closer at mouldings or paintings. He finds strange carvings inlaid into the stone beneath the thick, dark glass windows that line the wall. He has no idea what they are, but definitely not any runes he’s studied. Perhaps they pre-date the cult, or perhaps they’re a new form of magic. Likely, since he clearly doesn’t even know about translating spells until now. 

He comes upon a painting on the wall. Several winged women surround a rather dashing bloke who is wrapped only in a white cloth around the middle. They seem to venerate him as they proffer goods, though he partakes of none and instead holds his hands out to them as if to offer something intangible in return. 

But it’s the eyes of the man that intrigue Percy the most. Deep, dark blue irises surrounded by cloud white. They’re unearthly and deeply unsettling. He turns from the painting to find Nymphadora staring at another painting. From afar, all he can see is a nude man and woman embracing. 

More uncomfortable. 

He approaches her quietly and stands just over her shoulder. “Do you think all men looked like that once, and we have only just become… peaky?”

She laughs, full and from the belly. Her head ducks and her back arches into him and he fears that she’s going to fall over, so he places his hand on her hip to steady her. And that’s how they’re interrupted by a vast man dressed in crimson robes. Unlike the man who invited them in, this man does not hide his head under a hood, but instead appears open and welcoming.

The very worst of lies. 

“Good evening!” He greets them boisterously, his arms wide open. “I am Apollo, and I am the head of council.”

Apollo. Clever, Percy thinks. He ignores his automatic response and instead extends his hand out to shake. “Percy W-”

There’s a jointy elbow in his side - and quite possibly, a darkening bruise. Tonks also outstretches her hand and gifts Apollo with a very beautiful, wide smile. 

“Dora Black,” she introduces herself. “Percy and I are here on our honeymoon. We’ve heard so many wonderful things of your church here.”

“Ah, yes, so endearing to know that our word is spreading.” He shakes their hands in turn and then gestures them forward to join him in front of his chair. 

Chair is an understatement. A golden throne, decorated with jewels and carvings, with a large seat so that even the vastest of men can perch upon it. Percy blinks, all of his natural instincts rushing to the surface as he desperately attempts not to ask how his followers feel about being led by a man on a golden throne. 

“Now, what brings you to us?” He perches himself on the chair and rests his hands on his knees. 

It’s personable and Percy hates him immediately. Such a liar, he thinks. Before he can let his blunt thoughts slip through his lips as he is wont to do, Nymphadora gently eases into the conversation with a toothy smile and sincere voice. 

“We can’t agree on anything, the silly man,” she says and it’s probably so easy for her to trick the man because it’s not entirely a lie. “And it’s worse now that he’s lost his job. He has no focus. He’s sad all the time and doesn’t know his purpose.”

Percy glances to her and she doesn’t even bother to react to his indignant exhale. She bats her eyelashes instead and tilts her head to the side. 

“Oh, dear,” Apollo says, and instantly Percy can see the malice flash behind his eyes. He can sense how the man calculates their situation and use it to meet his own ends. The man’s eyes slide to Percy’s face and he frowns; a fake sort of expression that’s belied by the way his greedy eyes rake over Percy’s rather new and expensive robes. “Perhaps the hardest thing in life is to go from having so much to having so little. But you mustn’t worry! We shall put you up during your stay here.”

Nymphadora claps her hands and twists around with a wide, breathtaking smile on her face. “Oh, darling, I _told you_ good things await us in Germany, didn’t I?”

Percy considers her through slightly narrowed eyes and he clears his throat as if that’s going to stop a slew of harsh truths from excavating themselves from his mouth. It sort of does. 

“We’ll just need to wait and see, Dora, my love.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulls her close, and plants an exaggerated kiss to the side of her head. “What is it that we owe you in return, sir?”

He expects Apollo to leer at him, to growl and hiss as liars tend to do when they’re being discovered. He does none of those things, much to Percy’s consternation. The man laughs and points a thick finger at him.

“We needn’t talk about all the details just yet,” the man says as he wags his finger through the air. “There are things we must ascertain before truly accepting you into our fold, and we will hold a ceremony tomorrow in order to do so. For tonight, you are my very special guests.”

Percy gets the distinct impression that he’s a caricature of a man, too over the top to be an actual person. How in the world did anyone fall for his gimmicks? Even Nymphadora seems taken by the charms of the man and it makes zero sense. She cuddles into Percy’s side and he feels her fingers rubbing gently against his stomach over his jumper. It’s all very odd. 

“Ceremony?” Percy asks, because _someone_ has to keep their wits about them. For all he knows, this cult is going to ask him to sacrifice his fake bride and then where would he be? “What’s that, then?”

“Oh, it’s nothing at all.” 

Of course he is lying, Percy knows it straight away. Nymphadora just blinks and continues to smile and it’s damn unnerving. He thinks about pinching her side, but somehow thinks that might not be worth the bruising he’d get later on. Hypocrite, she is. 

“We’ll feast together, ask you to pledge your discretion and then we’ll share a small bottle of my special, homemade wine.” Apollo’s face splits into an even wider grin and Percy feels his gut clench. “And then, you’ll learn about the Feast of Avada Kedavra we’re to have in two days’ time.”

“Avad-” Percy gulps, but Nymphadora covers the word with a loud laugh.

“What, abracadabra?” She asks, a healthy mixture of skepticism and jest lacing her tone. “Are You secret magicians?”

Apollo lifts his chin and Percy is struck by how sinister the man appears, so openly that he really doesn’t understand how in Godric’s name these poor muggles could possibly believe he’s a good man, a savior. 

“Avada Kedavra,” Apollo clarifies with a forced chuckle. “It’s the path to salvation. But none of that now. We mustn’t discuss such things until you’re properly inducted.”

***

“Right. So, he’s clearly not who he says he is.”

Perch sits on the edge of their small bed and watches Nymphadora pace the small space between him and the cement wall. They have only torches for light and, of course, their wands, but the entire thing is so eerie that Percy almost wants to check under the bed for monsters. 

“He’s too…” She pauses mid step and taps her chin. “There’s something off about him, isn’t there? Like he’s not used to… being him?”

Percy raises an eyebrow. What the hell is she even on about? “Er. I don’t think I’m following you, Ny-”

She doesn’t let him finish. “His whole demeanor, the sitting down so suddenly and the lack of movements, how quickly he wanted us out of that room. I think he’s Polyjuiced!”

“What, no!” Percy slaps his hands onto his knees and shakes his head. “There’s no way. He was odd, yes, but why would he pretend to be another person?”

“Percy.” She kneels in front of him and grabs his face between her hands. 

He hates it. He doesn't like noticing the flecks is just-shy-of-brown in her dark eyes and he doesn’t like that she’s blonde. The shape of her lips is all wrong and the nose. Merlin, he prefers the pig snout to _this_. She doesn’t look like herself, no vibrant colors and soft curves. She’s all sharp and normal and so wrong. But when she breathes into his face and the sweet smell of mint hits him, he realizes that she’s still Nymphadora and that’s comforting enough for now. 

“You absolute genius of a man!” She curls her fingers into his face and he winces. “He must have been the head council _before_ the cult started. I wonder where he’s hiding the real Apollo?”

“I really don’t think he’s Polyjuiced.” He tries so hard to steer her away from this line of thinking, but she’s already lost to the drama of it. Aurors. 

“No, Percy, he definitely is!”

She jumps up from her knees and two things happen simultaneously; her forehead collides with his chin and her knee crashes forward onto his inner thigh. He yelps, she swears. He’s worried his tongue is missing because it hurts so bad, but he can’t even think too long on that because he realizes that there’s a pressure against his body that wasn’t there before and instead of seeing the ceiling, it’s her face hovering over his. 

“Oh, bollocks,” she whispers and she scurries away from him with her hand clutching her forehead and he wants to tell her to _please stop moving_ but he groans instead. “Merlin, Percy, I’m bloody sorry. Ugh, I slipped and-”

He places a hand out to her and winces as he rolls his tongue around his mouth. Ah, good, still attached. 

“It’s okay,” he says gently. She leans back against the wall and ticks her chin into her chest. “Hey, really, it’s fine. You were… excited.”

“Excited?” She raises her chin and blinks, dizzy he assumes. “You’re damn right I am! Apollo isn’t himself. And we need to find out who it is, and why they’re trying to murder a bunch of muggles with an Unforgivable. I bet you _anything_ it’s a death eater. Oh, I’ve always wanted to capture a death eater!”

Her words are out of her faster than he can keep track of. He stands up and puts his hands on her shoulders, because he can’t think of any other way to calm her down. She’s excitable and the last thing he needs is to continue to be clobbered before a madman attempts their murder. 

“Listen.” He squeezes lightly and forces her to look him in the eyes. “We can’t very well determine anything in a half hour long meet and greet, right?”

“But-”

“We’ll need to gather more facts. Tomorrow, at our ceremony.” And he still wasn’t very excited about the idea of ‘partaking in libations with a deranged murderer.’ 

“But-”

“And we’ll be able to chat with the followers to get a better idea of what we’re facing.” Riots sprang to mind. Angry muggles with pitchforks and torches. 

Her face falls and her chin drops again. He doesn’t like it, not even in this new face that bothers him. He puts the crook of his finger to her chin and lifts it gently, and he tries like hell to force a kind smile on his face. 

“It’s not a horrible theory.” She smiles at him and rolls her eyes. “Also, I hate that you’re blonde.”

She slaps him playfully on the arm and as he moves away, she steps forward, and they collide one more time. “You better sleep on the floor, Weasley. I’m even worse in my sleep.”

He doesn’t need telling twice.

***

The ceremony isn’t as daunting as Percy is expecting. Typically, ordeals like ceremonies at the Ministry are black tie affairs and with the level of schmoozing that makes him highly uncomfortable because it involves a lot of lying. This, on the other hand, is smaller and quainter. There are several muggles at different tables and they’re very comfortable with each other as if they’ve been living together for years.

He and Nymphadora are introduced to so many people that their names no longer register. And, as strange as it is, not many Germans in the mix. Some here, some there, but the diversity among those in the cult is staggering. He wonders how all of these people heard of such a thing. He asks one couple, but they laugh and say a word he doesn’t quite understand and so he has to pretend he’s also a muggle and knows what their methods of advertisement are. 

It’s exhausting, even though not nearly as overwhelming as a room of politicians. 

“Ah, Mister Black!”

He doesn’t react to the name and instead continues with his enhancement of a bloke who speaks with a heavy African accent. 

A hand clasps his shoulder and Percy jumps. “Are you enjoying the revels, Mister Black?”

Ah, yes, he is a Black. So strange. So not true. 

“Indeed, Apollo, thank you ever so much for graciously hosting our company this evening.” Percy lifts the small glass in his hand and takes a sip. 

“Wonderful.” Apollo releases Percy’s shoulder and makes a show of looking around the expansive dining area. “Where is your beautiful bride? Ah, there at the desserts. Just like a woman, isn’t it?”

Percy smiles without laughter and nods his head. “Yes, I suppose so.”

He doesn’t even know if that’s true. He doesn’t pay attention to the habits of anyone, let alone to know what women prefer at social gatherings. He’s witnessed Ronald eat half an entire buffet of sweets once; didn’t seem to be exclusive to women. 

“We’ll get started here soon. Please ensure that you and Mrs. Black are sitting together in the front row, yes?”

Percy nods again and turns abruptly from Apollo to find Nymphadora. She’s choosing a dessert, that much is true, but she doesn’t seem to be invested in the search. That’s when he realizes that she’s listening to others at a distance, minutely tilting her head and pushing locks of that horrendous blonde hair behind her ear. 

“My love,” he says, just in case anyone is listening. He finds the endearment trite, but he’s never been one to understand pet names. “Apollo requests our attention up front.”

“Did you know,” she asks as she finally chooses a chocolate cake from the table and plops the small piece into her mouth, “everyone here seems to believe that Apollo saved this church from ruin, and when he asked them to stay, he was also saving them.”

“Well, he does offer salvation on his list of future endeavors.” Percy shrugs. “Are you ready to sell ourselves to his cause?”

She’s beaming at him, and the way the torchlight catches her eyes sparks something devastatingly needy inside of him. He’s very glad she never changed her eye color; he’s grown quite used to their particular shine. 

Her arm loops through his and Percy leads them to the front row of seats, just shy of Apollo’s throne. It’s accompanied this evening by a small, white-clothed table with a small glass phial and a pewter, ornate cup resting on top. 

“You don’t think we’ll be drinking that?” She asks him nervously. He eases her gently into the seat next to his. Her voice is quieter than a whisper. “We don’t know what that is, Percy.”

“It might be ritual water,” he says to calm her. “Or perhaps the ritual is that they must kill us, in which case, we definitely failed this case.”

Her eyes are wide and her lips are parted. The ragged breath coming from her is quick and shallow. Percy grabs her hand and pats it consolingly. 

“It’s likely nothing,” he whispers in her ear. “A promise to him, a show of good faith is all. Otherwise how would he possibly have this many followers?”

She calms down and squeezes his hand. No chance that he’ll get that back any time soon. It only takes moments for him to lose feeling in his fingers and she’s still applying more pressure as Apollo stands before his congregation with a large, decidedly fake, smile. 

“My family,” he greets everyone with outstretched hands and lets his eyes travel the few dozen families that filled the small space. “We gather tonight, ahead of the Avada Kedavra Feast, in order to welcome two new members into our fold.”

A round of applause echoes through the room and Percy can’t help but look around at all of the serene faces that surround him. They’re all brainwashed, he’s convinced, like an Imperio that’s captured an entire crowd. It’s disconcerting, even more so as Nymphadora’s frame stiffens by his side. 

“Percy and Dora Black!” Apollo holds his hand in their direction and then beckons them forward. 

He stands and for a moment he’s afraid that Nymphadora won’t follow, but she steels her grip on him and takes short strides next to him as he approaches the vast man in dark red robes. Apollo’s thick hand claps his shoulder as he spins Percy around to face the entire congregation. He feels the man’s fingers curl into the fabric on his robes - a lighter shade of red than the rest - and he winces. On the table in front of him, the potion stares back, unknown and threatening, and Percy is running through his mental list of possible potions. Most likely: mind control, judging by the rest of the members who sit watching them. Or, quite unlikely, it’s only wine, and Percy is just worrying over nothing. 

He wets his lips and his hand inches toward the wand he’s hidden in the band of his trousers. It’s hot against his skin, like it senses danger and it’s ready for use. But he must be careful; he cannot spook the innocent muggles and if he attracts Apollo’s suspicion, he’ll put Nymphadora in unnecessary danger. 

“Our new friends come to us and seek asylum from the world.” Apollo steps around them and holds his hands up high to his followers. “As is our custom, we require our new members to sip from the Phial of Trust, so that they may never betray our confidence, and to promise to uphold our principles above all others.”

The mass of muggles clap, some whistle, but all eyes are zeroed in on their leader. Percy uses the distraction to grip the handle of his wand and cast a non-verbal spell, protection, over himself. He’s about to duplicate the spell onto Nymphadora when Apollo spins around with the small bottle in his hand. 

“First, the trust,” he says as he thrusts the bottle to Nymphadora and encourages her to drink. “One sip is all it takes.”

Nymphadora glances at Percy, whose hand tightens around hers. He silently promises to allow no harm to come to her and ducks his chin to encourage her to follow Apollo’s instruction. Her big, dark eyes remain on him as she allows a single bead of potion to hit her tongue. Percy swallows over a lump and then the bottle is in his hand and he’s being stared at by the entire congregation. 

He closes his eyes and tips the bottle into his mouth until he feels the liquid splash against his tongue. Nymphadora is close to his side, the heat of her body adding to his own body heat and forcing his face to flush. He exhales sharply through his nose and then opens his eyes. 

His vision shimmers around the edges, but he doesn’t feel any different. His wand stops thrumming against his side and he holds his breath. 

“Percy and Dora Black,” Apollo’s deep voice wraps around him like a snake and he can feel it squeezing him, as if trying to force him to submit. “Do you swear to uphold the principles of our community and to serve our cause before any other?”

Percy feels Nymphadora sway on the spot and then she’s quiet when she says, “I do.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulders to steady her and finds his voice is pulled from him against his will. “I do.”

“Excellent,” Apollo says and leads the group in a round of applause. “Very good. You may take your seats!”

Percy blinks. Is that all? He glances around and nothing appears to have changed. Nymphadora looks normal, albeit blonde, which again, he doesn’t enjoy in the slightest bit, but otherwise unaffected by the potion. Perhaps he misread the entire situation and caused Nymphadora misplaced nerves. He glances to her and then he decides to test his theory; he believes Apollo is out to control their minds and so Percy tries to ignore the request to take his seat. 

It works. He takes a step away from his seat and steps around the decorated table that held the potion. Well, he’s back to square one again. What the hell is all the showboating for, if not to ensnare them into this evil web of murder? 

Apollo begins a speech, but he can’t focus on it. He’s too busy building a conspiracy board in his head. Something is off. 

“Dora,” Percy whispers as he steps beside her again, “Nothing is different.”

She blinks. And trips over his foot as she sits down in her seat. “Something is… weird,” she answers quietly. 

Her hand takes his and a current of something sharp and hot licks at his spine. “Er, did you-”

“Oh no,” she gasps, her hand flies to her mouth to stifle her surprise. 

Apollo’s gaze meets hers and he smiles, but it’s more of a leer and Percy. is. terrified. 

“Nymph-”

“Percy?” She turns to him and her large, dark eyes are somehow brighter than they’d ever been. 

Is she changing her appearance here, now? His hand squeezes hers and he uses his other to grip her chin.

“You’re shaking,” he informs her matter of factly. “What has he done to you?”

Applause rings out again. It sets Percy’s teeth on edge.

“Do you feel it?” Her voice is so low he has to strain to hear her.

“Feel what?” 

And then he feels it. Tugging at his heart. Pulling him toward something. A string, a ribbon, a vine, clenching and twisting and dragging his soul somewhere, to something. His eyes snap closed and all he can see is her face; not with blonde hair or a pointy nose, but her purple hair and big, almost shaped dark eyes, and that beautiful blush on her cheeks, and he knows where this mystery string is pulling him. To her. 

And, Merlin, sweet Circe, she’s everything and he’s a fool for her, and an entire congregation of muggles can’t stop him from leaning forward and planting his lips straight onto hers. They’re softer than he thought, of course before now he can’t remember thinking much of them at all. And they’re full and pliant and equally demanding. 

His eyes snap open and he pulls away as if he can’t breathe. His chest is heaving beneath the heavy robes that she’s clawing at. This is wrong, all wrong, and yet, finally, _finally_ everything feels right and complete. 

“What’s happening?” The words barely leave his lips and she’s trying to kiss him and he holds her away gently. “Nymphadora.”

Apollo’s laugh drags his attention away from her. The man’s eyes glitter and it’s full of malice, purpose, intent. He drinks from a bottle, and Percy thinks he can smell elvish wine all around him. His senses are on fire; the taste of her, the smell of this place, the feel of her fingers curling into him, and the buzzing of merriment as the congregation chatters and laughs. 

He glances around, and that’s when he sees; they’re all couples, the entire group of followers. They’re pairing off, they’re holding on to one another, they’re touching and snogging, completely free from inhibitions. Percy’s heart races. What is this place? Why are they all… 

Bonded. 

They’re _bonded_.

“Nymphadora.” He stands suddenly and she’s immediately on her feet. His hands are on her shoulders and he’s shaking her gently. “We-”

“It feels so good,” she tells him, a smile lighting up her face. “Percy, that potion, I don’t think it’s evil.”

Oh, he begs to differ. It’s worse than evil; it’s bottled chaos. 

“Apollo!” He calls for the head of the council and grips Nymphadora’s hand tight in his because he finds that he doesn’t want to let her go. “Apollo, I demand to know what you’ve done to us.”

“I’ve freed you, Mister Weasley.”

Bollocks. Bollocks and shit. Percy never swears, but he remembers Bill’s less than couth words when mum found his stash of pornography, and the same expletives seem appropriate here. 

Weasley. _Weasley_. The man knows who he is. That means he knows they’re from the Ministry. He’s known the whole time. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” he laughs. “You think I don’t have allies in your precious ministry to tell me that you were plotting to stop me?”

Is no one else listening? Percy whips around and finds no one else paying attention. They’re lost in each other, as if under an enchantment. Nymphadora is quiet, but she’s finally taken her hands off his body. She’s fighting the feelings and he’s grateful because he needs her. Merlin, he _needs_ her. 

“Why are we bonded?” Percy demands. “What have you done?”

“The soul bond is incredible magic,” he says as he steps closer to them. Percy pulls Nymphadora behind him and squares his shoulders. “I took a cue from The Dark Lord, you see.”

The Dark Lord. Bollocks and shit, indeed. Nymphadora is right; this man is a Death Eater. He should have listened to her. 

“There are so many ways to bond souls,” Apollo goes on casually. He strokes his forearm, almost absentmindedly. “A mark, for example, or during a bonding ceremony. Sometimes all it takes is a pinch of hair and the right ingredients.”

“You _have_ bonded us, then. Why?” 

His mind worked overtime. He struggled to fight the feeling, as it wrapped so completely around him. She is here next to him and her entire being is wrapping him up in a safe bubble but he knows it’s not real and what they feel is fabricated. Still, he finds himself loving her and he’s not even sure he ever actually _liked_ her. Sure, he enjoys the curvy body she’s got pressed against him and the heat that’s pouring off of her is sending sparks of desire through him. But they’re not compatible, not in love. 

“Where one bonded soul goes, the other follows.” Apollo gestures around the room. “Most of these couples were skeptical in the church. All it took was a soul bond and where one chose to go - to me, for my ends - the other would follow.”

“You are controlling them!” Percy yells and the congregation around him is silent. 

“If that’s true,” Apollo whispers back as he leans in, no longer hiding behind a nice face, “do you think it’s wise to raise your wand against me here? Muggles have truly destructive tendencies.”

Percy steps back and is boxed in by Nymphadora. She smiles at him but holds her ground. Apollo praises her and it sends chills around Percy’s nerves. 

“That’s a good girl. Tonks, is it?” 

Percy tries to stop her from confirming but he’s too late. She nods her head, blissfully unaware of placing them in more danger. 

“The half blood daughter of a blood traitor and a mudblood.” Apollo’s face pulls into a disgusted frown and he steps back. Percy feels immediate relief. “Why in Slytherin’s name would the Ministry send you, a rookie, to stop the Dark Lord’s most revered follower?”

“Bellatrix?” Percy asks, because if he has to choose one, it’s her. The rumors he’s heard from Mister Crouch indicate-

“Lestrange?” Apollo laughs, but it’s opposite the hearty sound it was before. It’s cold, cruel, short, and the stench of polyjuice potion hits Percy’s face. Nymphadora was so right that he thinks she’ll probably kill him if they survive this. “That crazy bitch could never pull this off, especially not from Azkaban, no! The most loyal follower of The Dark Lord would never get captured!”

Percy isn’t sure who else it could be. There are rumors, of course; the Malfoys, Yaxley, Rookwood. But Percy knows them from the ministry and he’s talked to them in the past few months at the behest of his employer so it cannot be them. 

“You Weasleys,” Apollo sneers, and Percy wishes he could pull Nymphadora out of her enchanted state because he needs her. “You’re so far up your own arses, you can’t see what lies in front of you.”

“Nymphadora.” Percy does the stupidest thing he can recall in recent memory and he spins around to face her. His hands are on the sides of her face and his fingers twist in that stupid blonde hair that he hates so much. “Please, please come back to me.”

Her face scrunches up and she looks for a moment like she might, and then she grasps his hips, curls her fingers in, and smiles at him as if she hasn’t a care in the world. “Percy, I think we should stay for the feast.”

“There will be no feast!” He pulls his hands from her and launches himself at Apollo. “There. Will. Be. No. Feast.”

Each word is punctuated with a footstep as he stalks Apollo backwards into the pulpit. 

“You’re in over your head, boy,” Apollo growls and points over Percy’s shoulder. 

Every couple, every bonded and controlled couple, is encroaching on them. Their eyes are glazed, red, and their lips are pulled down in frowns. Even Nymphadora is staring at him as if she’s one of them, and he feels the bond around his soul tighten and it’s like he’s choking on it. 

“Percy,” she says sweetly as her hand finds the small of his back. He stiffens, face paling, because it feels so right, and it’s so bloody wrong. “Percy, it’s okay, love. He’s going to free us all.”

“ _How_ are you doing this?” Percy grinds his teeth as her hands come around his shoulders and gently encourage him to back up. “If she’s bonded to me, then it’s my heart she should follow.”

Apollo chuckles. “Tell me, Mister Weasley, did you enjoy the food this evening? Dessert, perhaps?”

The chocolate cake. The sweet scent on Nymphadora’s lips. Percy hangs his head, suddenly he feels defeated. He isn’t sure how to get out of this without her. 

“You poisoned the cake.”

“I poisoned the cake.” Apollo nods. “A simple mixture, one that The Dark Lord’s companions cooked up in place of Imperio.”

Percy glances around. The followers are everywhere. Nymphadora moves to stand in front of him, between them, and she’s so far gone that he’s not sure what to do. If he sends his Patronus to the Ministry, he’ll be dead before they get here. If he pulls his wand, he’ll demolish the Statute of Secrecy. And this bond, it’s calling for him to give in, to allow himself to be taken, to be with her in blissful ignorance. 

But he’s nothing if not steadfast in his beliefs and he’s stubborn to a fault, so he doubles his resolve and he sets his narrowed eyes on Apollo over Nymphadora’s shoulder. He will not give in. He will go down fighting. 

And he will save her. 

He told Moody he wouldn’t duel. That’s a lie; now he has good reason and he’s going to reach for his wand and - 

Nymphadora’s hand stops his reach. She leans in close and he’s very aware of every inch of her pressing against him. There’s a flash of light just outside his vision and suddenly she’s no longer sporting blonde hair, it’s purple. She no longer looks complacent and subdued, but full of fire and she’s fierce as she stands on her tiptoes and whispers in his ear.

“Block the exits.” 

She pushes him away and spins and her wand is out and flourishes around above her head. Percy watches the shimmering blue light for only a moment and then he’s magically sealing the exits one by one as the crowd begins stalking toward them in two equal parties. 

He hears Nymphadora shouting at Apollo, her wand jutting and twisting and she’s moving like it’s a dance, and he’s amazed because she’s so clumsy, but not here, not now. She’s powerful and beautiful and his bond sings as the thoughts of her race through his mind. 

His attention is pulled from her and Apollo when a couple grab his back and pull him down to the ground. They’re climbing on top of him, fists hurling anywhere they can get a hit. Muggle dueling is also not his strong suit and so he squirms and twists until his upper half is free of them. And then he stuns them. 

One couple after the other, he stuns them. He never turns his back on them and tries to break their falls so that there’s minimal damage to them. Magical Law Enforcement is going to kill him for all the obliviations they’ll need to perform, but he’s saving their lives - _they’re_ saving their lives and really, he deserves a damn medal. 

“Percy!” Her voice, filled with urgency and expelled on a deep exhale, was melodic to his ears. “Percy, help!”

He stuns the last couple on his side of the room and he sprints to her side. She’s dueling with Apollo, but his face is contorting, bubbling, shifting. Percy stuns anyone who dares interrupt her, because she’s glorious and a warrior and Merlin, his heart is fit to burst watching her. She’s powerful and strong, tossing spell after spell at the man who tried to enslave them. And she does it with a brilliant smile, cheeky and bright, as her vibrant hair flutters as if there’s a breeze in the room.

She stabs her wand forward one final time and Apollo stumbles. He’s left alone, no members left to defend him like inferi around a precious artifact. He’s down and he lost and Percy chants a resounding “yes!” as Nymphadora petrifies him to the spot. 

He’s immobile and everything around them is eerily quiet as they lean over the man. His face settles on its true form and Nymphadora gasps. Percy has no idea who it is, but he can feel her excitement for capturing her first Death Eater as it thrums through him. 

“Amycus,” she squeals as she jumps from foot to foot. “Half of the Carrow Twins! Moody is going to positively scream. Took a chunk out of his leg, this one!”

He steadies himself, places his hands on his knees, and watches her dance around in a small area proudly. His ginger hair fell into his eyes in a curly mess. Percy, for some reason, overcome with exhilaration and adrenaline, let out a breathy chuckle.

***

Back in drizzling England, Percy and the bubbly, feisty auror sit together in a cramped room. She keeps smiling at him and randomly changes her features as if to entertain them. She’s purple haired, and then pink, and then brunette, and then blonde, and that’s when he snaps.

“I bloody hate blonde on you.” Percy doesn’t know how to be delicate, but then he’d learned that she didn’t really need someone to pretend to be. “And could you please, for the love of Godric Gryffindor, put your eyes back to brown?”

She laughs and pinches her face until her hair is bubblegum pink and her eyes are the color of coffee. “I didn’t really take you for a bloke who’d like unusual colors.”

“I don’t care much for unusual at all,” he tells her shortly, and then catches her bright stare in his. “Except, it suits you, somehow.”

It earns him a wide, cheerful grin that makes him uncomfortable. He ducks his chin and taps his fingertips against the table. It has been over twenty four hours since they took down Amycus Carrow and the Ministry is on the hunt for his twin. Nymphadora begged for the case, but they had a lot to answer for still; stunning a full congregation of muggles, ingesting potions, their new bond. Anytime someone in the Ministry sees them, they stutter about needing to leave and would never return to the room. 

“Do you think Alastor will give a good recommendation to Mister Crouch?” 

“You were brilliant, Percy,” she assures him. Her hand finds his and she runs her thumb over its freckled skin. “I daresay Alastor will want you to join the aurors.”

“Oh no,” Percy groans and shakes his head. He also tries to ignore her hand but ever since that bonding potion, every little touch from her feels magnificent; as if it is something he’s been missing for his entire life. “I’m not a duelist, as you could probably tell.”

She snorts and squeezes his hand. Why wouldn’t she just stop touching him? “You did just fine! You stunned everyone that tried to kill us.”

“Muggles, Nymphadora-” she glares at him, but he pointedly ignores it because he feels patronized. “It’s hardly a duel if your opponent hasn’t a wand.”

“Okay, then.” She shrugs. “So what do you plan on doing now? Fast track to Minister for Magic?”

He certainly hopes so. “I think we ought to have someone break our bond first.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Her eyes grow wide under her pink fringe and he can see them mist over as she yanks her hand away from him. Honestly, he doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but certainly she can’t want to remain… his? 

He scoots forward on his chair, just at the edge, and reaches out to clasp her hands between his. He tries to put on his most apologetic face; something between a frown and wide eyes - that’s what his siblings always do when mum catches them out. Nymphadora sniffs and he feels something inside of him crack just a little. He doesn’t like it, and he wants to fix it immediately. 

“Nym-” a deep breath, and then: “Tonks. We didn’t choose to be bonded to one another, and quite frankly we have nought in common.”

“Is this supposed to help?” She snaps and tries to pry her hands away, but he won’t let go. 

Percy isn’t one for tact or delicacy. He doesn’t try to sidestep others’ feelings or put himself in their shoes. He is so far out of his depth that he doesn’t understand what she needs to hear from him to make it better. But, he knows that he doesn’t want her to feel like this, where it causes his heart to constrict. 

“No, no, obviously not,” he says more to himself than to her. “What I mean is, you’re a very beautiful girl and I’m a bit of a ponce.”

The resulting laugh is music to his ears and it drags a smile onto his face. He wants to hear that sound, always. 

“You deserve someone who is going to understand why you want to chase around Death Eaters, and someone who actually enjoys stunning a room full of people without feeling like he’s going to collapse.” 

He doesn’t realize he’s gotten closer to her, but when he feels her sweet breath on his face it stops all his thoughts. Up close, she is more stunning, little dark flecks of brown around her pupils and the deep bow of her lips beg for him to kiss her and maybe nip at them just a little bit, to try and drag out more content noises from her.

Worse, it isn’t until his lips touch hers that he realizes that she moves closer, too. It’s a precarious situation. He doesn’t want to seem disinterested, because over the course of the past few days he’s anything but. On the other hand, however, they’re both under the influence of powerful bonding magic, so how is he supposed to know if his feelings are real? 

This is exactly the type of complicated situation that Percy actively avoids at all costs. And now he’s been lip to lip with Nymphadora for close to five seconds and he’s wondering if she’d be insulted if he pulled away. 

It’s not how first kisses should go, he thinks. 

“You’re thinking way too hard about this,” she mumbles against his lips. 

His eyes spring open and she’s looking at him and their lips are still touching and it’s all very confusing. Percy wants to lick his lips because that’s what he does when he’s nervous but that might open up a whole new set of problems and so he just sits there, kissing her, because what else is he supposed to do? 

“Percy.” She pulls away and he silently thanks every deity to ever exist. “Percy, I want to do this. You know that, right?”

“Do you?” They’re still so close to one another and he feels very heady and warm and something feels like it’s going to burst inside his chest in the most delightful way. 

“Of course!” She grabs him by the face with both hands. “Kiss me, you muppet.”

She seems sure and so he allows her to pull his face into hers. She’s so sure of herself, so confident that this is what she wants, and he can’t fight against this feeling anymore. He wants it, this bond certainly wants it, and she clearly does. So, he’s in. 

He pushes her hands away from his face, takes her jaw into his hands and tilts her head just a slight bit, just the way he likes. He gives her an extra second to push her away and when she doesn’t, he deepens the kiss and sweeps his tongue against her lips. There’s a noise coming from him, a guttural sound that seems to come from somewhere deep down in his very soul. He’s standing and he’s bringing her with him and he’s got her sitting on the table in seconds flat. 

Nymphadora makes a sound that’s something between a moan and a squeak. Her legs move to allow him between them and her hands travel the length of his torso to his neck. Percy has his hands wrapped into her hair and he’s pressing into her because now that he’s given in he can’t stop it. He needs her, he wants her, and every piece of them that touches feels so damn right. 

“Percy,” she whispers his name against his lips and he likes the sound of it. 

“Nympha- _oof_.” Her foot collides with his shin and he doesn’t need to be reminded again not to use her given name.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here.” She makes her point by kissing him harder. He nods, of course she’s right, but neither of them stop it. “Alastor could walk in any time.”

Percy’s fingers untangle from her hair and plant themselves flat against the top of the table. He’s leaning so far into her that she has no choice but to balance herself against him and the feel of her body is so delectable against his. 

“If he catches us…” 

“Mmhm.” He doesn’t really register what she’s saying, just that she’s not stopping those little movements of her hips that are creating the most fabulous friction. And, Merlin, he doesn’t want her to. 

He’s snogged girls before, much to the contrary of what his siblings think. He’s actually quite good at it, because he’s always taken the time to perfect the things he does. Judging by the noises that are coming from Nymphadora’s throat, he wagers that he hasn’t forgotten how to ensure a snog is properly enjoyed. 

Percy glides one nimble hand up her waist and back down again. On the way back up, he catches the hem of her shirt and drags it up and over her bra. She hisses at the feel of his cold hands caressing their way down her stomach and he can feel her skin tighten as her muscles clench. He prowls around her torso with steady, sure fingers and he’s pressed so snug between her legs. It takes him by surprise when she bucks against him once, and her tongue is more forceful against his. She swallows his moan and before he knows it, Percy is no longer the one standing between her legs controlling the moment. 

Nymphadora has him flat on his back and she’s straddling his waist and he’s done for. She leans close, pressing her chest to his, her lips tracing a wet and open mouthed trail to his ear. She nips at his lobe and moves her hips. There’s no mistaking how much she turns him on, and he’s sure that the sound she makes in his ear means that she’s just as pleased with what they’re doing. 

“Plan to prove you know your way around a marriage bed, Percy?” 

She chuckles as his hand clenches around the skin of her hip. She grinds down again. He surprises her by thrusting up as his hands pull her firmly against him. His hands don’t stay still for long as they travel from her hips down to her arse and hold on tight. 

They move in a rhythm with each other, each of them trying to out maneuver the other, until she’s breathing heavily in his ear and he’s whispering words of encouragement to her. 

“Right there.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Gods, yes.”

“You feel so good.”

He doesn’t even know who says what anymore as his climax approaches. He sweating, freckles popping vibrantly against his flushing skin. Her pink hair is everywhere and her eyes are shut as she demands more from him. Her hips roll and push and buck and he’s done for when his name rolls off her tongue in a hot breath against the shell of his ear. 

She’s draped across him and his arms are encircled around her torso. They’re panting and out of breath but he’s utterly content, like he’s needed this for longer than he ever would have guessed. He kisses her gently now, lazily and completely, and discovers she likes it when he barely grazes her bottom lip with his teeth. 

They come apart after several moments and he’s a mess in more ways than one. He should have brought a change of pants, for one thing. He chuckles at the thought and tries to be discreet when he turns around and uses a cleaning charm to remove the evidence of what they’ve just done. 

“You’re different to how I expected,” she tells him after silence settles between them. “You’re much more fun than I thought.”

It’s something he’s heard quite often in his life. There were the adventurous Weasleys and the cool Weasleys and the funny Weasleys, but no one ever thought the serious Weasley could also be fun. 

Her eyes are bright and playful and the bond that he’s supremely conscious of jolts him in the most thrilling of ways. “You’re not a stick in the mud after all, are ya?”

He allows himself a rare smirk and leans toward her. “Being meticulous has its merits.”

Percy wants to grab her again and really show her just how much fun paying attention to detail can be. But, the door slams open and they jump apart. The most delicious pink, far deeper a shade than her hair, dusts her cheeks. 

“Tonks. Weasley.” Alastor hobbles into the small room and his blue eyes swivels around as if expecting danger to be lurking in the corner.

“Alastor,” Nymphadora greets him pleasantly, as if he hadn’t just interrupting the one good thing to happen to Percy in months. “Amycus Carrow?”

“Bloody Death Eater nearly murdered thirty muggles,” he says gruffly and slams a case file between them. 

Percy can’t help but feel a little bit proud. He’s not an auror by nature, not even close, but he thinks he can appreciate why she enjoys it so. It’ll never be his path, but he wonders if maybe he can’t encourage her while she pursues it. Warmth floods him at the thought, and he’s momentarily confused until he realizes that it’s the bond. And it’s strong and whole and perfect. 

“Seems that by taking out one Death Eater, another has decided to show its face.” Moody pushes the case file towards them and then takes a meandering stroll around the room as Nymphadora opens it. 

Her eyes are wide. “Alecto? She’s-”

“Just as bloody deranged as her brother, aye.” Moody nods. “She’s on the run in Bulgaria. We leave tomorrow by portkey.”

“I’m not going,” Percy says suddenly. No way, no how. He’d had enough auror business to last a lifetime. 

“I should bloomin’ well say not!” Moody laughed somewhere deep in his throat. “You know how much damage you nearly did to the Statute of Secrecy, lad? Damn near had to call in the obliviation squad from Austria for all the damage you caused.”

Nymphadora covered her chuckle with the back of her hand and Percy raised a ginger brow. “I wouldn’t have had to stun all those muggles if someone wouldn’t have eaten the dessert that nearly got us killed.”

“Oh Percy.” She didn’t hide her laughter this time, and despite that it was directed at him, Percy enjoyed the sound. “That chocolate cake didn’t have any effect on me.”

His turn to snort, and he mocks her as well. “Oh no? _He’ll set us free, Percy_!”

“I’ve been trained to fight the effects of magical mind control since I entered the auror academy. I was never under the influence of his potions.”

“You…” Percy takes a deep breath. “You were lucid the entire time?”

A big, toothy grin covers her face. “Yup.”

Moody interrupts. “Enough! It doesn’t matter now. Amycus is on his way to Azkaban. Now we need to bring in his sister.”

“Of course, Alastor.” She winks at him and he doesn’t like it, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

“We leave at dawn,” he says and then he sweeps out the door. 

Percy watches the door shut and then turns to Nymphadora, ready to have a go about her deception in Germany. He doesn’t get a word out. She stands, holds out her hand, and smiles down at him as he takes it. 

“C’mon. We only have a few hours before I’m off again.” She pulls him along, a skip in her step. “And I believe you wanted to show me your prowess in the marital bed?”

Percy grabs her around the waist and presses his lips into her neck. The very second they step into an apparition spot, they’re gone from the ministry.

***

They haven’t even fully gained their footing before she’s got him pressed into a wall with her lips on his neck. She jumps and he catches her around the thighs and wraps her legs around his waist. They stumble through her flat, eyes closed and unwilling to separate their mouths. Percy runs into a lamp, a sofa, and a wall before he finally finds the door to her room.

The second they’re inside, she disentangles herself from him and pushes him back into the bed. There’s a darkness to her eyes, hunger, desire, and he knows that it’s matched in his. He drags her shirt at the hem and pulls it over her head as she straddles his hips. She plucks at the buttons on his shirt and he reaches up to remove her lacy, turquoise bra. Briefly, he wonders if her knickers make it a matching set. 

And then he’s all hands; any piece of her skin that he can touch, he does, and she makes breathy little noises that drive him mad. She has all his buttons undone and he shrugs out of his shirt and before he even has it discarded to the floor, she’s unbuckling his trousers and pulling them down his legs. He props himself up on his elbows and watches her shimmy out of her slacks and is delighted to see that her underwear, does in fact, match. 

“Come here.” The words tumble from his lips, soft, warm, and inviting. 

She quirks her pink lips in a cheeky smile and kneels on the bed. He crooks his finger at her, but she takes her time crawling over top of him and it’s driving him positively mad. Every touch, every breath that dances along his skin, stokes a fire inside his chest and he knows their bond will seal tonight and he can’t even stop to think that maybe it’s not what they want, not when everything feels so bloody good. 

His eyes snap to hers. Her mouth is hovering over his cock and without dropping her gaze, she engulfs him fully. Her tongue is like velvet as her throat swallows around him. A feral, half-crazed groan rips itself from his lips and he flings his head back onto the bed and tries not to lose his mind over the way she teases him. He thinks she laughs when his fingers curl into the sheets, but he doesn’t care. She feels amazing. 

“Nym-” Her teeth lightly graze his sensitive skin and he corrects himself immediately. “Tonks, you’re going to rob me of my ability to give you a proper wedding night if you continue to, _oh, Merlin’s beard_ -”

Even his toes curl. He tries to think of Scotland, of the importance of cauldron thickness, of the requirements for international brooms during an official Quidditch World Cup qualifier. He’s on the edge of losing himself, of coming in her mouth any second. And then she pulls away. 

“I like how vocal you are,” she tells him around a throaty laugh. 

He can’t take it. As she stalks up his body on her hands and knees, he grips her by the hip and flips them over - rather clumsily - so that he’s hovering above her. She is shocked, eyes wide and mouth slightly open on a gasp. Percy takes advantage of it, pressing his lips to hers and swiping his tongue against hers. 

So, so close to the edge still, he knows he can’t possibly enter her yet. If her mouth nearly pushed him over so easily, the heat he felt as she grinds against him will surely push him too quickly. Percy drags his fingers from their clenched spot at her fleshy hip and places them right against the heat that’s driving him mad. Finally, her amused noises become serious and her playful, teasing motions jerk against his hand. He takes care to watch her reactions and adjust his movements accordingly; when she whimpers, he applies more pressure, when she bucks, he glides his fingers inside her and lets her try, try so very unsuccessfully, to seek out the climax she desires. 

He’s panting against her neck, desperate to get her close so that he can grab her by the hips and enter her in the raw, uninhibited way his brain was begging him to do. It isn’t until she clenches, fingers digging into his shoulder, his name falling like cries off her lips, that he pulls his hand away. 

“Percy,” Nymphadora breathes his name out in a raspy plea and he kisses the noise away. 

When he pulls back and steadies himself to thrust into her, he’s struck by the sheer desire that’s reflected in her eyes. He’s never had someone look at him in quite that way and he finds that, for the barest fraction of a moment, he feels the flutter of his heart as it tries to tell him that he cares for the girl beneath him far more than just being accidentally bonded to her. 

On that thought, he jerks his hips forward and sheaths himself inside of her. He can’t stop the guttural sound that replaces his exhale and he’s spurred on to move as her legs hook around his waist. 

Something powerful clicks into place and it’s the first time in his entire life he’s ever felt right. He isn’t going to last long, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t prove that he’s a meticulous and thoughtful lover, just as he promised. His name falls off her lips again and his motions grow erratic within minutes. She’s crying out into his ear and her bubblegum pink hair is on his tongue as he kisses her neck.

“I’m not going to last,” he whispers as he presses into her harder at the spurring on of her heel into his arse. 

“Don’t hold back, oh, god, _Percy_.” 

Her muscles contract and he’s done for. He pulls out and thrusts forward one more time and the world tilts on its axis. He’s sure he’s shouting but he can’t hear it over her noises, the uninhibited moans that make his cock twitch even though it’s spent. 

She laughs and it’s a beautiful sound, light and airy and content, and he drops his head into her shoulder and his chest rumbles, too. He’s never felt so satisfied in all his life and he’s not sure how to be this person. He props himself up, shaky in the best way, and stares down at her. This unconventional, vexing witch, she’s somehow everything to him now. The thought is just as troubling as it is pleasing. 

He opens his mouth to voice his musings out loud, but she brings her hand to rest over it and shakes her head. 

“Don’t ruin it,” she whispers with a smile. “We have a lot to figure out together, but I don’t want to lose this feeling just yet.”

“I really don’t think that’s wise,” he mumbles around her hand, ignoring the salty taste of her skin. 

“Do you really want to talk about this bond between us, aggravate each other, and then send me off to hunt down another Death Eater?” 

Percy raises an eyebrow, contemplates her and the cheerful face she’s still sporting, and then rolls off of her with a sigh. 

“I hardly think that figuring out our bond will have any negative ramifications for how well you do your job.” He extends his arm toward her and she curls up against his body. 

Her chin rests on his chest and her fingers trace lines up and down his abdomen. “It’s statistically more likely that an emotional auror will make a mistake.”

His fingers play with her hair and he twirls a pink lock around his finger, considering her before finally speaking. “It’s also statistically more likely that a married candidate will become Minister for Magic one day.”

She beams and he can’t help but reward her smile with his own. 

He’s not very good at this, not when it gets hard. But he’s also never felt _this_ before, either. Her entire being warms him, makes him feel whole and elated. If he were to turn his back on this bond, to sever it, there’s no guarantee he’d ever find this ever again. 

“When you return home,” he places a finger under her chin and lifts it slightly, “let’s make it official.”

“Official? Percy Weasley, are you asking me to marry you?” She sits up quickly and he pushes himself up, too.

“I think we’re already married, Nymphadora,” he reminds her and even though her eyes flash at her given name, he doesn’t stumble over it this time because he wants her to know the significance this holds for him. “But, yes, I’d like to make it official. Will you… marry me officially, I mean?”

He isn’t sure what he expects. Honestly, it makes sense. If she feels half of what he does, Percy doesn’t think she’ll turn him down. Of course, he’s been told many times that he’s a bit pants at emotions, so maybe he’s misread the whole situation. Just as his lips began to pull down in a contemplative frown. 

Nymphadora launches herself at him and knocks him back onto the pillows. “Yes!”


End file.
